


Gotham Born, Gotham Raised

by MercuryMerc



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Cassandra Cain-centric, Child Abuse, Disability, Fallible Narrator, Gen, I'm spitefully writing the fic I want to read, Mental Health Issues, Minor Romance, Slow Burn, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryMerc/pseuds/MercuryMerc
Summary: In one life, Cassandra Cain was born and raised to be the perfect assassin. In another life, Cassandra Wu was born and raised in Gotham for better or for worse.





	1. Prologue

The little girl in the back of the ambulance leaned around the EMTs looking for her parents. But she was too small to get far and Jim Gordon did his best to block her view.  
  
The EMTs nodded to him and bundled her deeper into the truck.

Jim Gordon rubbed the tired grit from his eyes as he surveyed the scene. After a long night, his clothes stank of cigarette tar and cheap one dollar deli coffee. There was some myth that went around that the rot of Gotham got easier to swallow after more exposure, it never did. Especially in cases like this.

Day was breaking over Lower Gotham’s Chinatown, the weak sunlight drawing out the color masked by years of grime on the tarps of side by side greengrocers and fishmongers.  
  
Crimes in Gotham were a dime a dozen but it seemed like the thrill of rubbernecking a crime scene never grew old to its population: a curious crowd milled around the striking yellow caution tape surrounding the Wu family’s broken down greengrocer storefront.

Grocery workers and the elderly murmured amongst themselves. Chinese and Cantonese and dialects from all regions melding in a low rumble. Officers were already swarming the scene taking pictures and shouting at the crowd to step back from the caution tape.

Gordon downed the black swill Gotham’s corner vendors called coffee and began the trek inside through the crowd. As he approached, the crowd noticed. They parted for him, muttering all the while. He was sure he heard the term ‘pig’ thrown around in Chinese. A term he had long gotten acquainted in all its forms. A sunspotted, wrinkled hand sharply tugged at his sleeve from the crowd. He turned to face the woman who had stopped him. It was Madame Hu.

Gordon had patrolled all over Gotham during his early days as a beat cop even through the insular Chinatown. He knew Madame Hu. All of Lower Gotham knew Madame Hu. The eldest stateswoman of Chinatown, she ran a hair parlor that closed at night for illegal mahjong gambling.

Madame Hu was Old Gotham and Old Chinatown to the core. She had immigrated from Northern China after political upheaval. Her family and her had settled in Gotham and just never moved. Nearing eighty now, Madame Hu had seen Chinatown grow and Gotham’s decay in action for over seven decades. And no one in Lower Gotham crossed her, even the local gangs kowtowed to her. She had earned the Madame in front of her name. Chinatown respected her and she respected it.

“Someone died.” Madame Hu stated, her keen brown eyes searching the tired facial tics in his features. “Who?”

“I can’t talk about the details of the case with—”

“You can with me,” Madame Hu cut him off. “ _I_ am not a civilian.”

Gordon rubbed at his forehead in frustration. She _was_ a civilian but by all accounts Madame Hu ran Chinatown, city council be damned. He made a decision. “The Wu’s, their youngest daughter was spared.”

“Hmm,” Madame Hu straightened for a moment, staring at him closely. “I know them, send an officer around to my parlor when you have the time.”

And with that she disappeared through the crowd. A ripple of murmurs followed her and some of the crowd surged forward offering to talk to officers. The Madame had given her approval.

“People! People! _People, please_!” Gordon shouted. “Give me a moment, I will have one of the officers down here to take your comments and stories.”

He moved forward and an officer lifted the yellow tape for him to slide under.

“Thanks, Dave,” He sighed.

“No problem, Detective. You want me to start on the statements?” Officer Dave Marrow leaned in.

“No, not here. It’s best to leave it to someone who’s fluent in Mandarin and Cantonese. Tell Officer Liu to start taking quotes.” He clapped the officer on his back. Dave wilted a little and Gordon felt a little bad. He was a rookie who hadn’t yet washed off the honest earnestness of a non-Gotham citizen. It was only a matter of time until Gotham ground him down to cynic.

On paper, Cao “Carolyn” Wu and Jianguo “David” Wu were two regular immigrants living the American Dream. Or whatever qualified as the American Dream in Lower Gotham anyway.

They lived above and ran a small convenience mart at the edge of Chinatown catering equally to Chinatown and Lower Gotham. A small, cluttered greengrocer that could barely fit three people. The inside was lined with soda, magazines, cheap plastic goods and cigarettes. It spilled outside to include a couple of crates of fresh fruit and vegetable. It was small, there wasn’t even a goddamn door just a flimsy tarp awning to keep the inside away from the elements. It was too small to even be worth a shake-down or even a demand of protection money.

In Gotham, there were three motives for a murder: money, personal, or random. If the Wu’s were favored by Madame Hu, they wouldn’t have had much problems with protection money or even with the local gangs. Any hit in Chinatown by any of the local gangs would’ve gone through Madame Hu anyway and she certainly didn’t seem to approve their deaths.

Which left personal and random motive. He hoped it wasn’t random. Random in Gotham never meant anything good.

Gordon walked through the short distance of the shop. The steel shutters hung at the top with a broken lock. Every step shook the plastic clutter hanging from the walls and packed side to side inside.

He carefully set the countertop aside and walked in through to the backroom.

The backroom was pure concrete. At the far side there were stairs leading up to the apartment the Wu’s lived in. Rolling metal shelves lined the sides filled stock to refill the shelves of the shop. Two officers stood flanking a large blood stain. The bodies of Cao “Carolyn” Wu and Jianguo “Richard” Wu had already been moved to the morgue. Not that it lessened the horror. The image of their bloody and beaten forms curled in the fetal positions was seared into his brain.

A single dirty mop that looked like it hadn’t been washed in three decades had fallen in between them. The handle was stained with blood. It lay like a dark reminder of what happened. To the side there was bathroom. And standing in the bathroom was one of his best, Detective Renee Montoya. She was examining the bathroom personally.

He stepped into the frame of the door, “Long night?”

The bathroom was shitty. But he hadn’t expected any less. It was tiled from the sides of the wall to the floor and lit with a bluish buzzing fluorescent light. The cracks between the tiles looked like they’d been black since the shop front had been built. A lone porcelain sink hovered underneath a long mirror stuck to the wall. Right beside it sat a yellowed toilet with the seat down that Montoya was currently leaning over.

“My back’s killing me,” She groaned as she straightened up. “I’ve been leaning over all night.”

“Welcome to your third year as a Gotham Police Detective, you get back problems and shitty health insurance premiums,” Gordon snorted.

“God, I know. I need a chiropractor but my insurance is not helping there,” she sighed and paused. “And nightmares.”

“The kids alway make this job harder. So what do you think?” He asked.

“I think that this was an experienced killer and I suspect that the Wu’s were running from something, maybe the killer,” Montoya said contemplatively.

Gordon gestured for her to go on. Talking it out helped catch details missed and figure the thread out.

“First here, look at this backroom. It’s an utter dump. I suspect it hasn’t been cleaned in years. There’s no room for any bathroom cleaners and there _are_ no bathroom cleaners anywhere, yet it reeks of cleaners and bleach.” Montoya swiped a gloved finger on the pristine mirror. “The killer cleaned this place top to bottom. I’ve been bending over this damn bathroom all day and I can’t find a single residue from the killer or from the Wu’s. This person was _good._ ”

Indeed the bathroom looked completely sterile despite its many cracks and flaws. It was the type of bathroom, that looked like it should’ve held at least twelve different types of mold and bacteria.

“The bodies,” Gordon said. “They were stabbed and tortured rather violently. You think it’s a new crazy or an old crazy?”

“It’s not Zsasz,” She tapped her fingers on the sink. “That’s the most obvious one. Zsasz is as good as this, but he isn’t _this_ methodical and clinical. Plus this isn’t his modus operandi. He doesn’t get this messy. He may be garden variety crazy but he’s predictable. Zsasz’s got one method and it’s tried and true.”

Gordon nodded he had come to a similar conclusion but he wanted her to talk it out before he agreed. “I figured as well, I checked. He’s still in Arkham and this doesn’t seem like his MO.”

Montoya nodded and moved to step out. He stepped aside to let her step around him into the backroom. She circled the bloodstain. “See the pattern?”

“They were found curled up at the center.”

Montoya shook her head, “They were _protecting_ something. Could you see the basement door from here?”

Gordon blinked, he hadn’t noticed it at all. But right in the center of the blood stains was the thin indentation of a square floor door. “They had a basement?”

“They had basement storage,” Montoya moved around the bloodstain to squat right beside the door. She wedged her fingers in and pried it open. It was difficult given the complete lack of anything that could have helped open it. Still she finally managed it and threw it wide, the door swinging to the side.

Officers peered up at them with the sudden influx of light. Squinting against the light and distracted from documenting every little detail. “God, is that you?” Officer Leon called up to them. A ripple of laughter echoed throughout the basement.

Gordon rolled his eyes and shouted down at them, “Close. It’s me.”

“That make Montoya the Virgin Mary?” Another officer shouted from out of view.

“Your mom can attest that I’m not a virgin,” Montoya snapped. “Now get back to work.” Light ooos followed and echoed back and forth in the basement. But sure enough, the officers went back to bagging and tagging evidence.

Montoya looked up to the ceiling for patience and the continued her talk. “Right, so here’s what gets me."

She pointed at the door, there was a strong bolt lock on it. “Why would you have a lock from the inside? It makes no sense. It would make it more difficult to get your shit. There’s utterly no use for it. It’d make more sense for there to be lock on the outside so people can’t get from the outside in.”

“It makes sense, but things aren’t always rational in Gotham.” Gordon pointed out. There were about a dozen places in Gotham he could point to where the architecture made no goddamn sense. Old legend had it that Gotham was built in a fairy circle, everything inside grew corrupted and mad eventually. So old superstitious Gotham citizens built a funhouse out of a city.

“Point,” she acknowledged. “But I still think this was meant as some poor man’s version of a panic room.”

Not as uncommon in Gotham as one might think. Everyone in Gotham had some version of protection available. The rich could afford their top of the line security and well-protected gated communities. The poor had to make do.

Montoya gestured at the shelf. “We found a wooden bar that had a pretty definitive indentation in it under one of the shelves. It looked like they’d normally wedged it open. _This_ is where little Cassandra Wu hid from the killer. She bolted the door shut. Even if he noticed the door he wouldn’t have been able to get in very easily. Then when the killer finally left, she crawled out and—”

They both knew what happened afterwards. It had not been a pretty sight for the answering police officers bursting in. Little Cassandra Wu covered in her parents blood curled up next to their bodies, desperately crying.

“Have you put in a request for blueprints?” Gordon asked. “The family might not have planned it but it’s definitely possible for some poor Gotham citizen thought ahead.”

“I have, and I haven’t been through them yet,” Montoya sighed. “But my gut’s telling me the Wu’s were running. You read the paperwork we managed to pull on them?”

He had. On paper, Cao “Carolyn” Wu and Jianguo “David” Wu were two regular immigrants that had won the metaphorical lottery of two green cards and came to the only city they could afford for a better life. Carolyn had been pregnant and the moment they settled down they had Cassandra. According to neighbors, the two of them struggled with English and spoke mostly Chinese. They relied on the English skills from neighbors and their young daughter to get by when they needed. In Chinatown, Chinese and to some degree Cantonese was more of a necessity than English anyway.

“What makes you think they were running?” Gordon asked. He had considered something similar, but he’d seen plenty of hopeful, down on their luck immigrants come through Gotham’s ports. Gotham was not kind to them.

“Everything? Nothing?” Montoya said contemplatively. She swung the basement door closed and then began to walk up the metal stairs to the apartment. “I can only tell you what I know. Family’s important to the Chinese, and they didn’t seem to have any. They didn’t send any money overseas, they didn’t correspond with anyone.”

“Maybe they’re dead,” Gordon threw out.

“Maybe,” Montoya acknowledged. “Still, they should at least have _some_ keepsakes. Immigrants don’t let go of things easy. I’ll tell you that.”

They moved up to the apartment. It was a shitty two bedroom apartment. And for that reason, miles better than some of the other apartments in Gotham. The walls were a yellowed white, having passed through hand after hand before reaching the Wus. Gordon could see the spotted bright white of holes filled in and painted over from where he stood.

The apartment gave the air of well-lived in. A bright red garish calendar with a big golden Chinese character hung against one wall. A row of potted herbs were lined by the window near the fire escape. Towels hung from a strung up line right by the window. And every single space of shelf was lined with storage bin after storage bin. An extendable pole with drying laundry hung between the kitchen and the rest of the apartment. But Gordon could still see the bright colorful bottles of liquids and spices lining the kitchen.

A chipped wooden dining table lay right off center, with fold out chairs circling it. Even that was filled to the brim with things. Old magazines, a rice cooker and electric kettle sat surrounded by little things on the table. One of those things was a photo album. Gordon walked over.

A happy gap-toothed Cassandra Wu smiled up at him from one picture. “You checked the photos?” He asked.

“I checked the photos, they were a photo album family. Utterly no photos of any previous family at all, no old artifacts or keepsakes in the jewelry box. Nothing at all but right by their bedside table they had to-go bags. Lighweight filled with cash, pawnable jewelry, clothes and other necessities” Montoya said.

“They could be orphans,” Gordon said. Fostered kids tended to get comforted by having an exit strategy.

“Then they would’ve been taken in by relatives or the community. I know enough about Chinese culture to know they’re more communal based than family based.” Montoya shook her head. “All I’m saying is that they’d might have a connection _somewhere_.

“I also think the killer entered through that window,” She pointed at the window currently hosting potted plants. “And, second, there was a phone call from someone international right before the killer came. That’s what gets to me the most.”

“How’d you know the killer entered through the window?” Gordon asked addressing the windows first. He moved closer to the window to examine it. The potted plants would normally be in disarray with a clumsy entrance and they were both upright and spotless. Not a hint of dirt was around. But as he looked closer he could begin to see the broken splinters of the window’s wooden frame being forced open.

Gotham’s buildings weren’t built like most buildings. The glass panes in the window weren’t so easy to simply remove. Breaking into a Gotham apartment always unintentionally left signs. Partially because the buildings were usually so old, that the act of doing so tore off pieces of the rotting wooden frame. But partially also because the people of Gotham had been paranoid from the start. Gotham architecture was designed to take beatings.

“A combination of things,” Montoya said, grimly. “The window looks like it’s been forced open from the outside. And the steel shutters downstairs were opened from the inside out. Which means either the Wu’s opened it up which seems unlikely or the killer came in through the window”

Gordon turned sharply. “What?” A killer that walked out onto the street was a confident killer. Either crazy enough to believe they wouldn’t be caught or certain of it.

“Those were Gotham brand steel shutters, certainly not perfect, but capable of withstanding lockpicking. They were the kind designed to only be able to be opened from the inside out.” Montoya said. “I need confirmation, but I have little doubt the Wu’s closed up their place at ten their closing time.”

Montoya circled the apartment slowly building the scene. “They got an international phone call at around 10:30. An international phone call that lasted nearly five minutes. Expensive for a family like the Wu’s. Maybe they got lucky, they were in the storeroom with their daughter when the killer came in. They rushed their daughter downstairs to the low-cost panic room. Shut the door when the killer started coming down before they could join her. The killer killed them and then the killer ran off soon after that through the front door of their shop.”

Gordon could see her theory play out in front of him. He could admit to himself it was a relatively good one, too. It accounted for how Cassandra could get into that hard to open basement so quickly without the notice of the killer. But something about it nagged at him. The random international call caught his attention. A warning perhaps? Notifying them of the killer breaking in upstairs, causing them to stash Cassandra in the basement.

For him, it was the connection that was tenuous. An ephemeral connection between the killer and the Wu’s. This was clearly a competent killer, but a competent killer didn’t need to kill for logical reasons. He glanced at the open-faced photo album.

“I want to work the case with you but I’m handing you the lead. Still don’t nail down your theory so fast,” he finally said. “Get me the evidence first then piece it all together.”

Montoya’s brows knitted together, a clear bullheaded determination set into her face. She nodded without saying a word and headed downstairs.

Gordon sighed. She was clearly taking this case personally. But then again it was hard _not_ to take this case personally.

And if he knew _him_ well enough there was soon to be another who would take it equally as personally. _He_ was always the harshest in cases involving kids.

 

Madame Hu was as much of an icon of Chinatown as the iconic paifeng at the head of Gate Street. She was certainly as old as it. And she had the uncanny ability to make any person who stepped into her parlor feel like a clumsy child no matter their age. An ability Gordon was starting to become acquainted with.

“Come in,” Madame Hu gestured at him as Gordon as he stepped into her hair parlor. The instant he did, every single resident fell silent and turned to look at him. There wasn’t many, but the curious gazes of the hairdressers was uncomfortable to say the least. They were all in their thirties, with various hairstyles that seemed less suited for their faces than demonstrating skill in hair.

The inside was lit by ugly fluorescent lights that highlighted the cheapness of the polished tile of the floor. Hair cutting red leather chairs lined each side. And there were two old Chinese women in the corner chairs getting their hair permed.

“I’d rather talk outside, ma’am,” Gordon said, stiffly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Madame Hu said, imperiously from the back of the hair parlor. “Indulge an old lady and her hospitality won’t you? Come in, have some tea.”

Gordon rubbed a hand over his sagging face. He supposed some tea might wake him up properly and there was no use over uselessly antagonizing Madame Hu.

“Alright, fine,” He said as he stepped in. The price of being on high-profile cases was becoming a high-profile detective. Everyone in Gotham seemed to recognize him these days.

Madame Hu turned and slipped through the beaded curtains to another room. Gordon hurried across the floor as quickly as possible, acutely aware of virtually everybody’s eyes following him as he moved. The other room was a shitty lunch room complete with dirty microwave, suspicious corner fridge, rickety cupboards, requisite water cooler, a plastic round table made to seem like stone, and fold out chairs. It felt like home.

Madame Hu was already busying herself with making a pot of tea.

“Let me help,” Gordon stepped forward.

“How?” Madame Hu arched an eyebrow as she poured hot water from an electric kettle into an elaborate teapot standing on a smaller tray at the center of the table.

Gordon conceded the point and sat in one of the fold out chairs, waiting.

Madame Hu began pouring the tea into the cups. He reached forward to grab a cup but she smacked at his hand and then poured the tea out into the slits of the tea tray.

“You should appreciate this, I’m treating you to a quick tea ceremony.” Madame Hu said, as she poured the tea into the cups a second time. She gestured at him to take a cup now.

“Thank you,” he said. “But you and I both know that’s not what I’m here for.”

“Hmph,” she sniffed. “All you police officers need more cultural knowledge in your life.”

Gordon was willing to concede that. His knowledge of Chinese culture began and ended with takeout and a friendly rapport with the gangly Chinese restaurateur’s son that delivered his food.

“If you did, you would’ve know to come to _me_ first,” she said.

“I’m here now aren’t I?” He sipped at his tea. It wasn’t what he was used to but still quite pleasantly earthy.

“Only because I told you to,” Madame Hu said. “Lucky for you, I’m willing to overlook that disrespect. I liked Wu Cao. She was a good woman, always respected her elders and smart. I have a softness for smart women like her.”

“Do you know who killed her?” Gordon asked.

Madame Hu leveled a sharp look at him. “No. But I certainly have _information_ about why.”

“Do I want to know how?” Gordon said, wryly. Everyone knew about Madame Hu’s illegal night mahjong gambling ring but so far no one had been brave enough to bust it.

“What do you think people do when they’re _stuck_ on a hairdresser’s chair for an hour? Stare at the wall in silence?” Madame Hu said, pointedly.

It was a good point. Gordon inclined his head.

“She was not an only child, she had a sister. A sister she missed dearly but also one wrapped up in some dangerous things.”

Gordon sat up. “What kind of dangerous things?”

“She never said specifically,” Madame Hu shook her head. “Only that she worried constantly for her sister, and equally as frustrated of what her sister would do to the family name.”

Gordon tapped his fingers on the table. Well that certainly helped add a new layer but certainly not necessarily worth coming down personally for.

“You won’t find the killer,” Madame Hu said abruptly ending his train of thought.

“With all due respect, ma’am—”

“You won’t, not this one at least,” she turned to him, her black eyes sharp. “I keep my ear to the ground and this was a good killer. One that came in from out of town and left just as easily. This is bigger than your little investigation. You won’t find the killer, James.”

 

Madame Hu’s words were prophetic it seemed. There was utterly no evidence. No fingerprints, no trace fabrics, nothing.

Detective Gordon sighed and leant back in his old chair. It let out an unearthly screech but astonishingly didn’t give out under his weight. It was an ancient thing that had seen the rise and fall of ten different Police Commissioners (not that meant too much in Gotham), and on dark, gloomy days like these Gordon always tested its resilience.

All the evidence they’d had was circumstantial at best and vague. And even _he_ seemed to stumped in this case. It was starting to seem like Cao Wu and Jianguo Wu’s murders would join the vast cold cases rotting in the precinct archives.

And then there was the young Cassandra Wu herself. The only witness. He glanced over at her. She was sitting in one of the cheap colorful plastic waiting chair, arms hugging her legs tight to her body. It had been three days since Officer Liu and Officer Farrow had responded to a call and arrived to find a catatonic blood-splattered four-year-old sitting in a puddle of her parents’ blood.

She hadn’t talked. She’d been silent under gentle questioning by paramedics and silent when she had been carried out of her parents’ blood and into a car and then to Child Protective Services. Silent under questioning from Montoya.

Her caretakers had reported that she did what she was prompted to do and little else. Little Cassandra Wu wouldn’t even look at them.

And now, Gordon needed to get her to talk to him. He leaned back harder in his old chair, listening for that oddly comforting groan of protest from the plastic spine of the chair. He looked up at the yellowed, speckled ceiling and exhaled.

The problem wouldn’t solve itself by Gordon looking over the files. He grabbed his cup and drained the rest of the coffee. It was bitter and cold from being forgotten on his desk. Still it comforted him. He stood up and began to make his way to Cassandra. She was sitting next to a CPS agent. The CPS agent sat stiff-backed on a chair scrolling through her phone. Gordon knew her type. She didn’t want to be here, and she certainly didn’t expect to end up here.

Right before he could properly make his way over, a hand slammed into the middle of his chest. Gordon’s brain short-circuited. His heart seized in his chest for a moment. He looked over at the owner of the hand. Montoya raised an eyebrow at him. “Coffee four or coffee five?” She asked.

“Coffee two,” he said.

“I’m busy Montoya.” He jerked his head at Cassandra Wu.

“I know, this is about her,” Montoya shook her head and leaned in. “Her caseworker told us that she’s been flinching from touching. I just wanted to tell you not to make any physical contact.”

He hesitated. That was... Discomforting for many reasons. He looked over at the blank faced Cassandra. His stomach dropped out. She was just a little girl.

“Do they think that she was…” Montoya’s eyes sharpened as she filled in the rest of the sentence.

“Preliminary investigations say no. It’s a definite possibility but…” Montoya glanced at Cassandra and her tone softened, “just be delicate.”

He nodded his thanks and she turned away sharply to get back to her desk. She was a good cop but this was her first gruesome case involving a child. He’d have to keep an eye on her. At the moment it seemed her only reaction was to throw herself into relentlessly pursuing the case. Gotham cops didn’t always deal so well with the horror of the job.

He walked forward again before stopping right in front of her. “Cassandra?” He knelt down to look her in the eyes. “Cassandra, I’m one of the detective working on your case.”

Cassandra looked forward, her eyes not shifting. He recognized that look. He’d seen in on a young Bruce Wayne once upon a time and more children than he’d have like to. She wasn’t present at all.

“Cassandra,” he gentled his tone as best he could, his voice was perpetually rough from cigarettes. “Cassandra, you’re safe now. It’s 3:30 pm on Friday January 23. You’re in a Gotham police precinct. You’re safe, you don’t have to hide.” A twitch. Cassandra’s pupils twitched to him.

Encouraged, Gordon kept talking, “You’re safe with us. We’re going to keep you safe and make sure nothing like this ever happens to you again. But right now, you’re safe. You’re safe.”

Cassandra started to shake. Her caseworker began to reach over to place a hand on her shoulder. Gordon grabbed her hand before it could land and shook his head. The woman gave him a glare but withdrew her hand. He turned his head back to Cassandra.

“You’re safe,” Gordon said. “You’re safe now.” It was like a switch had been flipped. A tear broke free. Then another. And soon little Cassandra Wu was silently sobbing. Instinctually, he brought up his hand to wipe away her tears but stopped before his hand would touch her. To his surprise however, she seized his hand with powerful little hands.

“P-promise?” Her voice was shaky but her eyes burned with intensity.

“I promise,” he said firmly. “No one’s going to hurt you ever again.”

She let go of his hand and then lifted little arms and wrapped it around his neck tightly in a hug. He patted her back. “I promise, Cassandra, no one’s going to hurt you ever again.”

In another lifetime, in another city, maybe he could’ve kept that promise. But this was Gotham. And Gotham made liars out of good men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra’s my favorite character! However there are aspects of her character and backstory that come off as written by white people. So I decided to do a more conscious rewrite of her story, starting with a new backstory. 
> 
> My Tumblr is: shadethechangingwoman.tumblr.com come talk to me


	2. Liars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE. 
> 
> TW: Implied threat of violence and implied creepiness toward a child (nothing happens but still) and verbal abuse to a child

Cassandra Wu always had a scream lodged in the back of her throat. A vestige from  _ that _ night. She remembered little of that night in truth. The other orphans of St. Francis Orphanage asked her morbid questions about the murder of her parents all the time. But she could never figure out a proper answer. All she really remembered was blinding inky darkness. And the salty taste of sweat from her palm as she pressed it tightly against her mouth. And a scream threatening to rise from her throat. 

So she never said anything to the other orphans. The words hit her teeth and gummed themselves up on her tongue. All jumbled up and sticky. 

Words weren't her forte from the very beginning but now they seemed to elude her at every turn. Others around her formed sentences so easily and beautifully. While it was an art form she found herself appreciating and understanding, it was never an art form she could ever seem to learn. 

 

 

Cass rubbed at the head of Doraemon, her favorite keychain.  Away from the notice of the sharp-eyed Head Nun of St. Francis, Sister Mary Clarence of course. It was one of her only possessions she was allowed to keep. A silly little blue monster she used to watch on the Chinatown recreation center's TV. It was the last thing she remembered her mama buying for her. 

A little keychain that her mama had bargained a local seller for, on the way back from her afternoon Tai Chi in the park. Cass would always go with her on weekends. Often fascinated by the slow but sure movements of the brightly outfitted old ladies in the park. Her mama would always buy something small for her after, as their little secret. A roast pork bun. An egg tart. A Doraemon keychain.

Head Sister Mary Clarence was an old nun, she'd been at St. Francis Orphanage long enough for the starry allure of fixing up the most forgotten and neglected of Gotham's children to have long faded. Now she focused her efforts on the veneer. Cass's hair was well-brushed, her teeth white and her face clean of dirt. All the children of St. Francis Orphanage looked as put-together as they could be. 

At age eleven and a half, Cass stood at a very respectable four feet and two inches tall. Her well-brushed straight black hair hung just below her chin and her dark brown eyes were wide and bright. And due to the strenuous best efforts of the nuns at St. Francis Orphanage, she was wearing a simple dress with loud colorful flowers in tacky orange, pink, and yellow. In short, she was cute. And she absolutely despised it. Cute was a dangerous word, a dismissive word. A word she didn't understand and a word she hated with all her being. A word she chafed at. 

Sister Mary Clarence had always done her very best to ensure she was cute. Cass glanced up at the Head Sister's form as she leaned over a long-suffering Skinny Jim. Sister Mary Clarence was currently busy straightening up the outfit of Skinny Jim. A reedy ten year old that was thinner than the other Jim in the orphanage and one of the best pickpockets in St. Francis Orphanage (no mean feat.)  Every orphan in St. Francis Orphanage endured the daily fussing right before school. Some didn't fight it. Cass always did. But she was Sister Clarence's least favorite. 

She never said it out loud but Cass knew. It was in the way her lips curled when she look at Cass. It was in her stiff demeanor. It was in the lines of her sharp edged smile. Cass could always tell. She might not be able to read all to great but she could always read the lines of people. It was easier to be Sister Mary Clarence's least favorite than a favorite sometimes. She would rather be a little hellion than someone's pet favorite. 

Of course that meant enduring a great deal more than the average orphan at St. Francis Orphanage. Cass had gotten very good at dodging and very good at reading anger at this point. She had long learned that the words were less important than what she could read off their body language and off their face. All adults were liars and Cass was well-acquainted with liars at this point. And she always walked a tightrope of balance between provoking too much anger and provoking just enough to be considered a little delinquent in the making.

Still she was still cute. A fact she couldn't ignore all the time. Cass scraped her shoe against the pavement, she was practically resigned to it. 

"Be careful with those shoes! And look up! The world can't see you, Miss Cassandra!" Sister Mary Clarence snapped at her, turning away from Skinny Jim. 

Cass flicked her eyes toward her. And then she slowly and deliberately scraped her shoes against the pavement and smiled wide, teeth and all. A thunderous look crossed the greying and sagging visage of Sister Clarence, but the incoming screech of an incoming bus delayed Cass's punishment. Right on time. 

The twenty-seven orphans of St. Francis Orphanage all lined up to enter the yellow bus. The bus driver opened it up and they all began to climb on. St. Francis Orphanage was the first stop of many, which meant the bus was empty. Cass gripped the side rail tight, and clambered on. The eyes of the middle-aged bus driver from leered at her from under his sunglasses. His t-shirt was wrinkled, the lines set in hard criss-crosses against the grey. The low neck swayed loose and revealing, as he leaned his thin frame over while holding the doors open with a wide arm. "Hello, Cassie."

The hair on her neck prickled. Cass didn't respond, instead she let herself stumble waving the hand that gripped her lucky Doraemon key chain to coincidentally jam the pointed side into the fleshy underside of his arm. The man yelped. Cassandra moved down the middle hallway of the bus to find her seat, confident her point had been made. Still her hands shook a little as she grasped the key chain tighter. 

She slid into the back corner seat, the aging brown-black leather cracked under weight. Skinny Jim followed behind and sat across from her in a big three seater.  

"Nice," Skinny Jim leaned back from his seat and held his fist out. 

Cass stared at the offered limb and smiled back. She raised a hand and tapped it with two fingers. Skinny Jim didn't seem to mind, nodding his head. "You're alright, Little C. You're alright." 

She grinned shyly back.

 

 

Park Row Elementary School was an ugly red brick building that stood beside two crumbling empty lots. It was one of the best funded schools in Gotham. Thanks in part to the generous donations of guilty rich Gotham citizens feeling a twinge of conscience. It was also the worst school in Gotham. These two things were somewhat related. 

Graft and theft was nothing new to Gotham but it would always be cruel when the ones paying the price were children. But then again in Gotham, the children were always the one paying the price. 

Any well-intentioned teacher looking to make a difference was run off in a matter of months. What was left were the top school officials pocketing bonuses numbering in the hundreds of thousands and teachers with no other prospects. Even for egregious amounts of money, no one really wanted to stay in crime-ridden Park Row. So the school stood out amidst the ruins of a back alley of Park Row. A lone red brick tower. It was ugly, filled to the brim with state of the art technology (that was a target of regular thievery) and a staff that had long given up on its students and students just beginning to learn that they had been given up on. 

However ever year, prospective recruiters from Gotham's biggest and mightiest rich academies deigned to come to Park Row to pick up a couple of its brightest. And then pat themselves on the back for giving the children of Lower Gotham an opportunity.

And every year, the kids of Lower Gotham scraped together what little hope they had and pushed themselves in a frenzy. Only the best of the best could go after all. So Cass didn't kid herself. She was well aware of where she stood as far as intelligence went. Despite her best efforts, the words on the page always mixed themselves into alphabet soup and her words remained broken.

Cass waited her turn for the metal detector. The school's two concessions to school safety was a metal detector and a revolving door of uninterested stationed police officers. No one had raised questions about the practicality or use. And now every morning, a line of attention deficit kids lined up one after another to be searched. 

The metal of her Doraemon keychain was a bright warmth in her clenched fist. She placed it into the pocket of her backpack as her turn came up. The police officer was decked out in full black police gear. Fifty pounds of a bulletproof vest with a softly stitched Dave on the upper right corner. The pockets of which were filled to the brim with extraneous supplies. Two assault rifles were holstered at his sides. He nodded stiffly at her. She placed her backpack into the rolling path of the X-Ray machine and stepped through the metal detector. 

The detector didn't beep but the police officer frowned as he looked at a chunky screen. He pulled her backpack out and pulled her Doraemon keychain from its pockets. Dave squinted at it and glanced at her. "This is a potentially dangerous weapon." 

Cass didn't say anything. That was such a dumb statement, she hoped her incredulity reached her eyes. 

Dave shook his head, pocketed the keychain and handed her backpack back to her. Anger burned in her. This stupid man cared so much about her Doraemon keychain but couldn't give any attention to any of the other violence at their school.

Cass scowled and pulled the backpack up as slowly as possible. The officer turned away from her, attention already intent on the next kid. She waited patiently and sure enough someone set off the metal detector. The officer turned his body to look. Cass swiftly picked her keychain from his pocket with his movement and headed off down the hallway.

The hallways of the building were a swarm. The school was normally a ghost town of kids dropping out left and right. Or sometimes simply incapable of coming to school. Now, on the day the recruiters were coming, kids swarmed the hallways. There were kids studying in corners, kids studying by lockers and kids studying while walking. 

Even Katie, a kid defined by her absences, ambled through the hallway. A book held within her arms, and a desperate, sleepless look in her eyes. She was favoring her left arm. She could read it in the way the book was settled against her arms. Gentle against one side. 

Cass clenched her fist. Adults were dangerous. And they never cared if another one of them was dangerous. Katie brushed past Cass. 

Cass turned. But the words curdled in her mouth and all that came out was a soft, "Alright?" But Katie was already past her. She closed her eyes and walked forward. 

 

 

Her class was a class of approximately thirty-two students. The class would normally be massive if half the class didn't normally come in and out of attendance. Today, however, the classroom swarmed with kids. 

The kids painted the classrooms. Chaotic smears of colorful shirts all crammed over books or what little computer screens were still left unstolen in the school three-quarters through the school year. Cass moved toward the back. Her lone computer was at the back. The school considered her 'special.' Which meant little in Park Row Elementary School. There wasn't a teacher qualified to teach her so instead she got the special privilege of her own computer with special programs. Most of which were dumb. Or boring. Or condescending. Or all three.

But she had free internet. And in the interim hours of watching the rundown teacher attempt to pull the class together she could search through pictures. The words all tangled themselves up on pages, but the computer was calibrated especially for her. The letters spaced just right on the page, so she could better read out some basic words. And the audio accompaniment helped as well. The words in the audio soothed her ears. 

The bell rang and the rest of the children scrambled to their seats. Mr. Abbott, their beleaguered teacher, walked into the classroom. "Children, we have a special guest today! I want you to meet Mrs. Neumann!" 

Mrs. Neumann strode in. Cass could smell the stink of Upper Gotham on her. Just in the way she held herself was lax and open despite being a woman nearing her 60s. A bright wedding ring gleamed from her ring finger. Her bright pointed red shoes looked clean and almost new. Her hair was slicked back in a tight bun and a thin wire rimmed set of glasses sat on her thin nose.  

"Hello children, please don't stop your daily activities on account of me," Mrs. Neumann smiled. 

All the children smiled back, fully aware that they would absolutely not do any of their daily activities in front of a woman that potentially held their future in her hands. 

Soon enough the lesson began. It was Reading. Which was really just an excuse for Mr. Abbott to catch his breath after a long night of testing the limits of his functional alcoholism. All the kids scrambled to produce books they would never normally read from their desks. Cass didn't look up from her computer. Her ability to read was still tenuous at best. 

Mr. Abbott collapsed into his desk, his eyes squinting in the light as he leaned forward. Cass could read his exhaustion in his bent and shaking form. He had spent the night at the bar again. Some of the teachers at Park Row Elementary School could be dangerous. A different form of dangerous, not physical. Mr. Abbott wasn't dangerous like that, he was just sad. Even his students pitied him.

Mrs. Neumann seemed to take it as permission to wander the classroom. The other kids squirmed in place. Most of them unaccustomed to staying still for long during "reading time." 

Cass clicked away at her computer. Her programs were designed to teach her the basics of math, reading and other important skills. It might've been effective, except it repeated itself every three days. At this point Cass could speed through the programs in two minutes through sheer repetitive memorization. But as she did so, she watched Mrs. Neumann make her rounds in the corner of her eye. 

She was good with the children. She would kneel down to their level to talk. And her voice was clear and inviting. She was interested in or at least she sounded interested in what the other kids were saying to her. Most of the children had never been talked to by a friendly teacher in this manner and it was clear the other children were warming up to her fast. 

Cass tightened her grip on her mouse. The bright green of the success screen lit her face and the internet opened up to her. There wasn't much to do on the internet but she liked pictures and videos. And the internet held an abundance of them. 

She hummed as she clicked through pages and pages of pictures of faraway lands. Then she paused. Mrs. Neumann had finally made her way all the way to her. She didn't look up. But Mrs. Neumann seemed undeterred and knelt down to her level. 

"Hello, what's your name?" Mrs. Neumann asked. 

She smelled good. Nothing like the city rust and grime that seemed to infect the rest of the city. Cass didn't say anything. 

"Well, my name is Mrs. Neumann," she said with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

Cass shrugged, looking forward at her computer. A voice behind her rang out, "Don't bother with her, she's stupid." 

It seemed like Mr. Abbott had finally decided to catch up with Mrs. Neumann's rounds. 

Righteousness and thunderous anger drew Mrs. Neumann's spine up straight. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Abbott shook his head, "Not like stupid the—I mean dumb like mute. She can't speak and she can't read." 

She could speak, not well but she could. But that's besides the point, it wasn't like she ever attempted to waste her words on Mr. Abbott. He might've been one of the best teachers in Park Row Elementary School, but that never meant much. 

"Right," Mrs. Neumann shifted her lapels with a hand. "Well, regardless, Anders Preparatory Academy is one of the best schools in Gotham, we are fully equipped to deal with a mute student." 

She smiled at Cass, but Cass could see the way her righteousness was melting off her shoulders. Pity laced her eyes. The woman thought of her as a lost cause, not one that her school would deign to help. The teachers had already given up on giving up on her. Another stranger doing so was nothing new. Cass looked away, scrolling through her videos.

 

 

The walk to St. Francis Orphanage from Park Row Elementary School was a long one. But most of the orphans at St. Francis chose to take it. Some of them using the time as an opportunity to go scavenging for abandoned things in Gotham's back alleys. Some of them used the time as an opportunity to play in the streets before the sun came down. Some of them used the time to make their way through the world the only way they could. Orphans were a favorite of the more unsavory types to run their drugs. 

Cass liked to do something a tad more dangerous. Well, dangerous was a relative word. 

The Park Row Elementary School area was a wasteland for the most part. Not many hung around there. The Gotham Police Officers stationed there could be unnecessarily aggressive for lack of anything else to do. 

Park Row Elementary School was at the very lowest part of Lower Gotham. And within a couple of avenues, more and more people filled the streets. 

Cass kept her head up. It was broad daylight, but in Lower Gotham that didn't mean much. However today, it seemed like most of the people had somewhere to be. And aside from the regular drifters and homeless that listed from side to side ignored by the majority of people too caught up in their lives; most people were hurrying along.

As she passed. She spotted Ma Irvings. She sat in her customary window. She was looking out to the world and fanning herself. Her curly hair was wrapped up in a colorful, vibrantly patterned wrap and she lounged dignified in her seat. A staple of Lower Gotham, Ma Irvings watched everything on Diana Avenue.

"Cassandra," she called from her perch. Cass lifted her hand and waved. 

Ma Irvings continued , "Don't be getting yourself into trouble today." 

Cass nodded her head and Ma Irvings smiled at her. She liked walking by Ma Irvings. Most people who knew Cass thought her broken and irreparable. Ma didn't think of her like that all. Ma thought of her as just another Lower Gotham kid, scurrying back and forth mischievously. 

Despite its proximity, the rest of Lower Gotham wasn't much like Chinatown. The skeletons of the bodegas and cluttered convenience stores that lined the streets were similar, but the meat of the city was unfamiliar to her. Lower Gotham wasn't as distinct in its lines as Chinatown. Lower Gotham was a melting pot. Italian delis sat next to Indian greengrocers. Indian greengrocers sat next to Mexican taquerias. Mexican taquerias sat next to Egyptian falafel shops. Egyptian falafel shops sat next to drug farms. Drug farms sat next to mob-owned bars. 

Some called it diverse. Others called it a cesspool. They were both right. Lower Gotham was filled with equal parts victims and equal parts perpetrators. Sometimes the line between the two were indistinguishable. 

Still, to Cassandra, Lower Gotham had its own colors. And biased as she was to Chinatown, she couldn't deny the rest of Lower Gotham's occasional sparks of beauty. The city looked worn down and crumbling against the high rise skyscrapers of Upper Gotham, like the ruins a new city had risen from the ashes of one still struggling to hold on. It was pretty.

Cass pressed forward. Her eyes keeping a steady watch in front of her. There was no one who would miss her, it made her an easy target in a place where even kids with someone who would miss them went missing. 

It would be a lie to state that no one had ever tried. She existed in a state of perpetual motion and of perpetual readiness. Wariness was her natural state these days. Her eyes mapped out the movements of the people around her before they could even make their movement. 

The hair on the back of her neck raised, and Cass tensed, looking around her. On her side of the street, a woman in a trenchcoat walked beside her and started to shift. Her hand in her pocket. An old man was arguing with a red-faced shopkeeper over pears in the crates at the front of a greengrocer. A homeless man slumped in an alleyway.

Across the street, there was a group of teens skipping along and screeching. Cass locked on to the woman. But the trenchcoated woman simply walked past, pulling a phone from her pocket. Cass didn't loosen her muscles though. Someone was watching her. 

Cassandra didn't slow in the least bit. She kept moving, hurrying her pace. She weaved in between the others on the street. Some of the shopkeepers raised their hands in greeting, while normally she would've greeted them back, it was best if she kept moving. 

Still Cass stopped outside of the best Italian butchery and deli in Lower Gotham for Big Marco. Big Marco was a retired mob man who operated one of the most successful Italian delis and butcheries in Lower Gotham. Partially because he was a retired mob man. All sorts came to his door. Some to pay respects. Some to pay debts. Some because he did indeed have some of the best meat in Lower Gotham. 

He was generous, though. And he had a soft spot for her. Well for most scrappy young girls. It was an open secret that Big Marco had retired being a mob man after his daughter was killed in a crossfire. 

When Cass had been kicked from the door of the St. Francis Orphanage without dinner, she could always count on Big Marco to feed her. 

Today, Big Marco was in the back alley. He threw a gigantic black bag of trash into the dumpster. 

She moved closer, moving to just behind him. He cursed as he turned to his side to get the other black bag which had split open. "I keep telling that little squirmy fucker to doublebag—" He turned with the bag and finally caught sight of her. 

"Oh, Cassandra! Uh, just ignore what I said there." He dropped the leaking trash bag into the dumpster. 

"How are you?" 

Cass nodded. 

Big Marco nodded back. "Good, good."

He moved back to the door and winked as he opened the door. "Wait for me out front. I'll go get your daily sandwich. Italian Combo with extra meat."

Cass moved to the front of the shop. Still aware of the intense prickling at the back of her neck. She wanted to hurry along though. Her destination was one of the most dangerous places in Gotham, therefore it was one of the most well-protected places in Gotham. Her gut had kept her safe in all of her years outside the safety of her parents' arms. And she trusted it above everything. 

It wasn't long until Big Marco came out with her fully wrapped sandwich. She beamed at him. "Don't eat too fast." He said. 

It was a legitimate warning. He had once witnessed her stuff her sandwich in her mouth in under a minute. 

She stuffed the sandwich into her backpack. She was definitely not going to be able to eat dinner tonight. And a sandwich was infinitely preferable to dumpster diving again for food.

"Today..." He hesitated. "Just, be safe." Something was bothering the man. His body tensed as if in preparation for something.

Cass nodded slowly. A warning from Big Marco wasn't something to take lightly after all. Still she would be safe at her destination and waved goodbye. 

Soon enough, she spotted the telltale green of plants creeping through the cracks of the sidewalks. Robinson Park was ahead. Poison Ivy's home. 

Most people in Lower Gotham were respectful of her space. Even when the villain was waylaid in Arkham Asylum, they gave her park a wide berth. Poison Ivy extended the same courtesy, she rarely attacked the people of Lower Gotham without reason. 

Still the park was dangerous. Well, for most people to wander into. Ivy didn't much like adults. But it was more than safe for the forgotten victimized kids of Gotham, those scared of the same people Ivy hated. 

Cass had been going for a long time now. Poison Ivy was not a good woman. But she had a certain soft spot for the mischievous young kids of Lower Gotham who rarely obeyed their parents warnings. 

The bravest of the kids would seek her out. And for those bravest, she tolerated their polite presence, enough so that occasionally she would even deign to let them eat some of the fruit that decorated her domain.  And Cass was just the right shade of delinquent and brave to come to Ivy's park.

Cass wasn't the only one to visit her but she was one of only a few. There still weren't many kids brave enough or scared enough to view Poison Ivy's land as a safe haven. And today it seemed like she was pretty alone with the dark greenery. 

Poison Ivy's domain boiled over with green. Vines and large leaves burst over from each small space in between the trees. It was an ordeal to navigate. Trampling would be faster. But her mom had always taught her to be polite other people's houses. And she was pretty sure the park counted as Poison Ivy's house. 

Years of coming here had taught her to be nimble. She zig-zagged on the roots. Using the momentum to propel her forward. And swung on the lower branches to vault over bushes and plants. It was fun, like a mini gymnasium laid out for her to cross. 

The greenery was kind as well. Every time she came through, she could swear that a path opened its way up for her. Branches always the right height for her to swing by. Roots placed exactly for her to propel herself with. And the most poisonous of the plants tucked away in corners. Just enough to be challenging but not hard enough for her to legitimately overextend.

"Is that a little koala I hear coming through my woods?" A purring voice echoed through the trees as she began to move closer to the heart of the Park. Ivy's greenhouse was the most beautiful palace Cass had ever seen. 

It was a well built glass greenhouse. But Poison Ivy had let nature reclaim it. A massive tree grew out of the center. It broke through the glass roof. Greenery pressed up to the sides of the glass. Filling the space up to the brim. The glass reflected the dappled sunlight coming through the layered leaves of the veritable forest in the park into small cracked triangles of yellow-green light. 

"Auntie!"1 Cass exclaimed. Her voice echoing back. There wasn't a response but rumbling vines shifted like writhing snakes behind the obscured glass. The door creaked open. 

Cass dropped her backpack at the entrance right by next to a lone beat up red backpack. And after a considering moment, she took her shoes and socks off as well. Best to keep those clean. Sister Mary Clarence hated it if her shoes were dirty. And she could afford to irritate the nun, not to infuriate her. 

"Ah, little koala. Come in, come in" Poison Ivy's voice slithered through the trees. 

The inside of the greenhouse was a veritable jungle. A little more organized though. Stones lined the space inbetween the seething mass of greenery. Trees with trunks thicker than her arms grew to fill the top of the greenhouse. Thick vines hung between branches. Flowering bushes filled the spaces in between. Sometimes, Cass could feel the ground pulse through her feet like a steady heartbeat. 

She marched forward skipping across the smooth stones. The air was cool and humid. Cass didn't mind that all too much though. It was a smooth contrast to the dry grit of Gotham. 

Soon enough, Cass had made her way through to where Poison Ivy rested. She lounged in a hammock made of vines way above the ground. Below her, there was a boy resting his back against a tree trunk reading a book. A Lower Gotham kid. She could just tell in the scuff of his shoes, the cracking in the graphic image on his tee and the way he held himself: always ready to run. His hair was a wavy dark black and his skin was a shade of dark brown.  He was shorter than her. A fact that pleased her. 

"How was your day, dear?" Poison Ivy asked.

Cass shrugged as she moved toward the tree. She nodded at the boy. He didn't seem to notice, still absorbed in his book. 

"Mhm," Poison Ivy hummed. The hammock of vines swung down and moved to the side so Poison Ivy's feet rested on the ground. "Tell Auntie everything."

The boy glanced up, looking between the two. Ivy waved a hand at him and he seemed to take that some indication to settle in further.

"A woman came to school, tried to pick some of us to go up," Cass sat down, crossing her legs. 

"Ah, Upper Gotham," Ivy leaned in, raising an eyebrow.

Cass nodded. Ivy had an ambivalence to Lower Gotham but to Upper Gotham she was vindictive and angry. Cass had listened to many a rant about the polluting corporations that lined the business district and 'fat cats' that grew rich off the 'milk of the earth.' To be honest, Cass didn't really understand most of it. But 'Fuck Upper Gotham' was a sentiment she could still get behind.

Ivy sighed. "I suppose it was some of those schools doing their annual recruiting sessions."

Cass nodded. The period was a big deal for most Lower Gotham families, to such an extent that even Lower Gotham people without families knew when recruiting season for the top academies was happening. 

"I'm surprised, you're here instead of at home studying."

Cass shook her head. No amount of studying could fix her brain. "I'm dumb." 

Ivy snapped. " _ No _ , you aren't dumb Cassandra! Forget what those teachers say. You are much smarter than you give yourself credit for."

Cass shrugged, the people around her were excruciatingly honest when they called her dumb. No one ever seemed to lie to her then.

Ivy sighed. "You're definitely not going to grow up to be like the rest of the mouth breathers that pollute this world. You're much smarter than them. Comfort yourself in that." 

She waved a hand, "Help yourself to some fruit. Play nice and get along, you two. I still have some healing to do. I had a nasty encounter with some... Vermin."

The vines begun to slither forward and cocoon Poison Ivy's form. Moving her away back into the dense forest.  

The trees branches swung lower toward her. Heavy apples hung from one tree and ripe peaches hung from another. Oranges hung from one tree and pomegranates from another. A veritable feast. Cass grinned and begun to help herself. 

Sometimes you had to be a little careful about the bugs on the Ivy's fruit. But they were usually pretty good. She just had to be careful when inspecting them. She picked her fruit from the branches carefully. Uncaring of the few bugs that laid on some of their surfaces.

Two peaches, one orange and two apples eaten later and  she was ready to take a little rest before she'd go for some seconds. 

The boy hadn't shifted other than to occasionally glance up and wrinkle her nose at her as he watched her eat. Cass could see the stiffness in his limbs though and a bruise peeked out, obscured partially by his shirt. 

She took a deep breath and plopped down next to him. He startled and hesitantly asked, "Are you even tasting any of it?" 

"Yes," Cass smiled. She reached out and tapped the book. 

"What?" The boy asked. She tapped the book harder and slowly he began to get it. 

"Uh, what am I reading?" The boy asked. Cass nodded and beamed.

"Uh, Anne of Green Gables," he thumbed through the pages letting her see the heft of the book. 

"Do you not talk much?" He asked and then he glanced down at his book. "Or read?"

She tightened her hands into fists beside her. 

His gaze seemed incredulous. It seemed like a lot of people in her life looked at her like that. Like she was dumb. But it seemed some of her anger bled through her smile because the boy suddenly looked down and rubbed at the back of his head.

"Ah, I'm sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean to—" He said, embarrassed. "Let's start over. I'm Jason Todd." 

He stuck a hand out. It was a peace offering, Cass took his hand  and squeezed it. "Cassandra Wu." 

"How old are you?" He asked. "I'm eleven."

She grinned. "I'm older. Eleven and a half." 

"Really? You seemed younger." Jason said.

She raised a hand from her head to his. "Taller." 

"I haven't gone through my growing period yet," His face burned red. 

She patted his hand in comfort. "Still, taller."  

He huffed and closed the book. "Well, I bet—  _ I bet _ I can climb a tree faster than you." 

Cass glanced over her shoulder, there was a moderately sized trees just behind the two of them. She nodded and smiled. She held out a hand and waved at the trees. 

Jason stood his ground and marched his way over to a tree. He sized it up. "First one to the top wins?"

She moved toward to the tree right next to his. And nodded affirmative. If there was one thing she could do, it was beat the kids around her in physical contests. She was still the reigning arm wrestling champion of Park Row Elementary School. 

Jason pulled off his shoes and socks with single minded determination. "Alright, on my mark."

Cass tapped the bark, waiting.  

"Ready, Set, GO!" He shouted and pulled himself up the tree.

They scrambled up the branches, delicately. As delicate as they could be in a frantic race to the top. Ivy was quite kind but even she had her limits. 

Cass curled her feet against branches finding as much purchase as she could in the rough bark and the knots of the tree. She was fast and quickly out paced Jason as she reached the top in a steady climb. Her arms ached from the effort and she could feel the humid air sticking to her skin. Still the rush invigorated her. And each deep breath filled her with adrenaline. It wasn't long until she reached the very top. 

She glanced down. Jason was huffing as he pulled his way up the tree. He looked a little winded. Sweat glistened on his forehead. A bare wind brushed in and cooled against her skin. "Need help?" She called down. 

"I'm good!" Jason huffed up at her. Then he looked down and back up again. He reached up to reach another knot to pull himself up and Cass could see his hand slipping. She reached out and grabbed his hand. Which turned out not to be a good idea. Jason was smaller but significantly heavier and pulled her away from her tree. They tumbled down screaming. 

Vines slipped under them so fast, Cass barely had any time to react. Her heart thudded in her chest and her throat seized. The vines gently cocooned them and carried them slowly to the ground. Jason squeezed her hand hard. He was cutting off her circulation. He was breathing  _ hard _ .

"I thought, I told the two of you to get along?" An archly annoyed voice filtered from the leaves.

"We were, Miss. Ivy— ma'am." Jason said stubbornly. 

"I would consider doing getting along  _ safely _ next time," her dry voice said. The vines lowered them to the ground and parted to safely deposit them on the ground. 

Cass took deep breaths and then caught Jason's eyes as they were breathing equally as hard.

"I guess I was  _ barking _ up—" Jason wheezed, "the wrong tree."

Cass blinked and her laugh burst out of her in a huge wave. It was infectious and Jason started to snort and laugh. The two of them rolled on the grass, laughing and holding their stomachs from laughing too much until finally the laughter faded. 

Jason huffed, "You win. You're definitely a better climber than I am." 

Cass lifted her arm up and gave a thumbs up. 

Jason propped himself up on one hand. He looked over and hesitated. He pulled the red book to him and  opened it again. "Want me to read to you?" 

Cass nodded and smiled. She propped herself up against the tree and leaned back. 

Jason begun to read the book. He was a good reader. He didn't stumble over the words even a little bit. And soon enough the story began to unfold steadily in front of them. 

The day dimmed, and soon enough only a little light trickled into the greenhouse. Jason glanced up at the top of the greenhouse. He gently closed the book. "I gotta leave. It's getting late." 

He got up and held out a hand to Cass. She grabbed it and he pulled her up. The orphanage stipulated the orphans return before sunset. Cass had already made Sister Mary Clarence irritated today, it probably wouldn't do to provoke her further. She dusted off her stupid dress. 

"Bye, Auntie!" Cass called up. Jason startled and looked up himself. "Uh, bye— Miss, Ivy, ma'am." 

He winced and glanced at her. Cass patted his head. Nothing to be ashamed of there. There was no response but that was quite normal. 

The trek out was quiet and the two of them fell into a comparable silence with Jason piping up once a while to gush about Anne. Cass didn't mind. The sound of him talking was soothing. Jason talked to her like she understood every single thing he said. Which was refreshing. Soon enough they reached the edge of the park. 

"Uh, I have to go this way. But I'll see you again?" Jason said. Nervousness practically permeated him.

Cass patted his head in affirmative and he smiled. 

"Bye," He waved and jogged off in another direction. 

Cass looked up at the sky, it was fading. The orange tones glowed bright and pink-purple darkness was encroaching. It looked like she needed to get a move on as well. 

 

 

Cass got back late. But it wasn't like anyone really noticed. She slipped in through a window, landing on the hardwood floor in the 'study room.' Luckily it was only other orphans in the room. Skinny Jim, Regular Jim, Izzy and Chloe all sprawled out on the floor. All of whom knew not to snitch. Skinny Jim waved a hello at her. "You missed dinner."

Cass shrugged. She probably wasn't even going to get any dinner anyway so it didn't bother her.

"Eh, she was probably gonna get no dinner anyway," Izzy said, echoing her thoughts. "Clarence was  _ fucking _ pissed."

Regular Jim chuckled. "Yeah, you could smell the smoke coming offa her."

Chloe shook her head, "You should probably avoid her until it blows over."

Cass saluted with two fingers and headed toward the door. Luckily she still had that sandwich in her bag. Big Marco packed the wet ingredients separately so the bun wouldn't get all soggy. 

Unfortunately it didn't seem like she was going to be completely lucky today. As soon as she opened the door to the hallway and stepped out; she made eye contact with Sister Mary Clarence coming down the hallway. 

Cass winced internally. There was a mean look in Sister Mary Clarence's eyes. Her gait was straight and stiff but Cass's eyes practically watered with the smell of alcohol fumes coming off of her. All in all, the  _ worst _ of situations. 

"Cassandra," She barked. "Come here." 

Cass felt tempted to run out of the room and jump out of the window. But this was inevitable. Mary Clarence walked off into the hallway down to her office. Cass's stomach churned in anticipation. 

Sister Mary Clarence's office was a cruel little setting. Wooden desks decorated the room and artifacts in the forms of saints and Jesus Christ frozen in agony dotted the walls. There were two chairs in the room. One comfortable leather rolling chair, Sister Mary Clarence's one acquiescence to modern times and one creaky wooden chair. Its legs were uneven. And it's back tilted too ramrod straight. There was absolutely no way for anyone to be comfortable on it. Especially during the long lectures Mary Clarence liked to subject the kids to. Afterwards, any kid was always sore and their limbs half-asleep. 

Today seemed especially ominous. A dark storm cloud hungover Mary Clarence visage. But to Cass's surprise, she sat in the wooden chair and then gestured for Cass to sit in her own chair. Cass settled into the plush cushions. 

"I—" Sister Mary Clarence began and then she sighed. She grabbed a silver flask that lay on top of the piles and piles of papers on their desk. "I— have not always been the fairest to you."

Cass startled. That—that wasn't where she thought this was going. 

"Christ," She swore. Cass nearly fell out of her chair. "Christ, I'm sorry." 

That ominous feeling swept over Cass again. "I've—I've grown bitter, I know I have. I used to think I could change Gotham with the power of my fervent religiousness. It didn't take long for Gotham to knock that out of me. And I took it out on all of you. When you were a kid—when you were kid you remember that we never spoke to you."

Cass slowly shook her head. 

Mary Clarence sighed. "You screamed, you know, when you first came here. Just kept screaming in another language all the time. It felt... It felt right to just ignore you and you certainly didn't make it easy for us either."

Cass squirmed in the chair. 

"But... But you don't deserve this. I'm sorry, Cassandra. I'm sorry, I failed you." Sister Mary Clarence buried her head in her hands and begun to sob. 

"What?" Cass asked. Fear crept up her spine.

Sister Mary Clarence slid a paper folder across the table, "You're going to be adopted, Cassandra."

Cass opened it. A rough hewn face stared up at her. Dangerous the face screamed. In the lines that were carved into his face, in the graying stubble on his face, in the broadness of his shoulders and in the dark steely look in his blue eyes. 

"His name—his name is David Cain." 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Auntie here means she's actually saying Ai Yi or 阿姨 the Chinese of Auntie. You don't just call relatives Auntie in Chinese culture and basically any older female you want to be respectful to you would call Auntie.
> 
> Ok, now we're on our way! Just so you guys know I am (roughly) using pre-new52 canon but I will also be stapling parts of Rebirth onto it. What I'm saying is Duke will eventually be in this. Side note: I don't think Poison Ivy would have a problem with people eating fruit. Fruit is actually meant to be eaten and have the seeds spit out to produce new fruit trees. The flesh of the fruit is meant to entice animals to eat it. The important bit is the seed. 
> 
> I've also decided this is eventually going to be StephCass. Eventually though, it will be a long ways on until that happens and there will be pairings before that. Chapters will be around 5000 words, because doing 10000 word chapters might kill me.
> 
> My Tumblr is shadethechangingwoman.tumblr.com. Come talk to me!


	3. Don't Scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbh this is where most of the warning tags coming into play. This will be the hardest chapter to read in the entirety of this fic. And if you want to skip, I'll be putting a summary of this chapter at the end notes of this chapter. Click more notes to see it. 
> 
> TW: Child Physical Abuse (not super graphic, but quite graphic), Verbal abuse, violence, death, blood,

Dangerous men in Gotham were a dime a dozen. But with the dangerous and bizarre evils that stalked the streets, the mundane evils were left to the wayside of public imagination. And often the most dangerous of men were ordinary, angry men. David Cain was one such man.

David Cain stood at a stout 5"8 but still his gnarled, massive body dwarfed Cassandra as he greeted her at the door. The nun that held her hand squeezed tight and turned sharply away. Cass wanted to call to her retreating back. But it wouldn't have done anything.

She stared up at him. His pale face was lined with craggy mountains and topped with wiry white hair. His mouth was carved into the shape of a grim line. Cass knew men like David Cain. Everyone knew men like David Cain.

His story was such an ordinary story in Gotham that the characters could be swapped out for any other characters and there would be barely any differences. He was an angry man. A man who felt like the world had not given him enough of his dues. A man of Lower Gotham, his anger had festered to something lethal and toxic.

A poor student, although that meant little within the Lower Gotham educational system, he had flunked out early and instead went to work in the seedy bars as a bouncer. His rage fueling him. He rose from a bouncer to a henchman to Penguin's violent, bloody left hand.

Until one day, David Cain had woken up and gone to supervise a shipment of drugs. And the Bat had swooped down and beat him up so badly his left knee no longer worked properly. The seething rage that had aided him in climbing those ladders before became a chain to him now.

Now he wallowed in a gritty apartment at the very ends of Park Row, calling in favors to the most honorable scum of Gotham and sitting on his accrued wealth. A has-been but a brutal has-been. And Cass was trapped in the midst of his territory.

Cass was not accustomed to living so close to danger. Every inch of him exuded a deeply held anger. An anger that practically shook through him in waves. An anger that seemed to suffuse every part of him. A lethal anger.

"I won't lie to you," he sneered. "I don't much care for having a kid. But this old leg of mine isn't the greatest for doing things around the house. As long as you do your chores on time, we won't have a problem, capische?"

Cass nodded, slowly. New rules, a new playing ground. She would adapt. She always did. She could do this. She could do this.

"I said capische? Speak, girl!" She watched his hand come down in slow motion. Some part of her brain screamed at her, MOVE, MOVE. He slapped his meaty palm against her cheek.

A ringing pounded in her jaw. She tasted blood in the back of her throat. She choked out, "Yes!"

"Hmm, they told me you were dumb. Hopefully not too dumb," he curled his lip and lumbered away to his room.

Cass cradled her cheek, looking at the floor. She wondered if that was why the orphanage chose to give her to him. Dumb. Too dumb to be saved.

She curled her fingers into tight fists. It looked like her life was always going to be dictated by violence. All she needed to do was survive.

She took a deep breath and pulled her suitcase of clothes closer to her.

David Cain's apartment was a shit hole. But that wasn't saying anything but obvious about an apartment in the Narrows. The building structure had probably been built so long ago, it probably remembered the smell of horseshit filling the streets below.

The interior of the apartment was grimly blank and empty. A vague smell of stale air wafted through the air. Like the place hadn't been aired out for months. The window was half-crusted shut, it overlooked the blank brick wall of the opposite building. The kitchen was blank and empty separated from the main room by a half wall. The sink was full of dish-ware with food crusted plates and cups. Flies buzzed lazily overhead.

The walls were blank and cheap. In the main room of the apartment, a big dark red armchair sat next to a sagging green sofa chair in front of a low wooden table facing a large plasma screen tv pinned to the wall.

Cass missed her home. Not St. Francis. Her home. It felt so much more alive than this. The walls here felt choking. Their blankness oppressive. She dragged her suitcase across the floor to the only other room for the forseeable future.

It was tiny, more suited to be a walk in closet than a room. A long thin bed sat low to the floor covered with threadbare linens. Cass rolled her suitcase across the floor and sat down on her bed. It creaked under her weight, it's metal springs protesting. She lay down and curled up.

A pressure pressed down on the back of her throat. There was a scream just waiting at the back of her throat. She couldn't scream. She couldn't scream. She couldn't scream. She squeezed a hand around her mouth.

 

 

Her fingers were shriveled up like prunes. The skin on the back of her hand felt like leather. It was all roughness and callused. They ached from the effort of pressing the sponge against the pot. There was food tightly caked on. David didn't much care for rinsing food out after he ate. She scrubbed harder. Her hands felt detached from her arms. Heavy weights just tying her to the mundane and incessant job of scrubbing. Her eyes burned. She hated him. Something burned within her with that knowledge. She hated him.

For one man, David created an enormous amount of dirty dishware and cups. And for a man that didn't mind living in the cesspool that was Lower Gotham, he was fiercely strict on cleanliness. A single streak or water spot on his cup was more than enough for the man to fly into a rage. So she kept scrubbing. The water was so achingly hot, it practically burned her skin. But every time she turned the knob from steaming hot water to cold water, the man quipped from his chair, "Hot water kills bacteria."

 

So the knob was kept on hot water. Cass glanced over at the man himself. He was in his customary position: slumped over in his customary armchair watching the TV with a half empty can of beer in one hand.

The entire apartment stunk with the putrid fermented scent of beer. He was not the most careful of persons. And by the end of the night there would be sticky puddles covering the floor and Cass would have to get on her knees and scrub at it. The scent stuck to her clothing and to her hair.

David chuckled, a rough sound in the apartment. His knee was bad and every movement had the slowness and hardness of a man unbending for the first time in hours. He was not a man that moved, the world moved around him. His clients came to him for his information and his informants came to him with information while he sat in his customary armchair. It was an easy job, but still there were moments when he would glance out the window at the dirty, glass-ridden alleyway. And she knew he missed the violent brawls, he had grown up in.

He channeled that nostalgia into simmering resentment instead. A resentment he liked to express by smacking Cass with his back hand.

"It's taking too long for you to finish," He yelled from the chair, as he switched channels.

Cass didn't respond. He didn't usually expect a response. Although sometimes he did. But then again. Sometimes there was nothing she could do to stopper his resentment. All he wanted was an excuse.

Cass watched him in the corner of her eye. But he didn't seem inclined to tear his attention from the TV. The cheerful optimism of the Home Improvement Channel was too riveting, she guessed. Or maybe he was just too drunk to notice her. With him that was a very distinct possibility.

He alternated between apathy and drunken rage so often. Sometimes he was too drunk to notice when she dodged. Those were the good days. Other days Cass found herself calculating how much pain she could stand to live with. Dodging never ended well for her. She had the scars to prove it.

She scrubbed at the pan one last time and set it aside. That was the last of it, she sprayed down the sink. In the corner of her eye she watched the TV. She had to move to her room and it was best if she did it when he was the most distracted. Sometimes he could barely tell where she was if she wasn't in his line of sight.

A small scratch against the floor outside of the door snapped her attention to the door. She waited. Sure enough, someone pounded on the door. Slow and deliberate. She exchanged a look with David.

David blearily looked up, "Go get it."

She walked to the door carefully. Loud noises tended to set the man off. She clenched her jaw. The people who visited David Cain were not nice people by any stretch of the imagination. Often times, they were worse monsters. She opened the door.

The man that stood at the door was rotund and his features leering. A golden monocles rested on his long nose. He wore a nice suit that seemed out of place in the grit and dirt of the Narrows. And in his hands was an umbrella. She knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. She averted her gaze and stepped aside. The Penguin stepped in gingerly. His nose curled up at the stale scent that permeated the apartment.

David squinted at him. "Hey! Oswald, what are you doing around here?"

"To see an old friend," Oswald smiled. His smile practically dripped insincerity. "And to ask my old friend a question or two."

Cass scampered away slowly, hopeful that Cain's attention was caught.

"I didn't take you as a family man, Cain. What's with the young one, you've got around?" Oswald asked.

"Ah," David grunted. "Needed some help around the house because of my bad knee. She's a lot of trouble though."

"Well, if she's too much trouble, I'm always open to getting new help."

Cass didn't look back, she just pressed forward to her room. But the weight of the Penguin's gaze felt heavy and ominous.

 

 

Cass was always tired these days yet even as she lay in her bed at night she couldn't fall asleep. Every part of her wired so awake that nothing seemed to be able to put her to sleep. Her skin crawled with energy. It was like every single thing in the vicinity screamed at her. The slight creak of the pipes. The soft sound of snoring from the other room. The static of the television. The slight metal clink of cans in the alleyway below the apartment slamming against the walls and echoing up to her. She sat up.

Her room was a walk-in closet disguised as a room. It suffocated her to be in, there were no windows, just twin garment rods facing each other above her head. She could reach out both her legs sitting at the side of her bed and hit the wall. She needed to leave. She needed to run. She needed to—

Cass got of a bed and inched the door open. It eased open with a quiet creak. Which was about as good as you could get for the shitty apartment in the heart of Lower Gotham.

Soft feet padded across the floor. She checked around the corner. But it seemed like the booze had done a double favor of knocking David out cold in his customary chair. He was slumped over. The light of a nearby lamp harsh on his face. Illuminating his face to look like a ghoul.

Some St. Francis part of herself wanted to go over there and draw a middle finger on his forehead.

 

Cass left instead. Tip-toeing carefully to the door and opening it. She didn't know what she wanted to do. But she needed to leave the suffocation of the apartment. Gotham wasn't safe in broad daylight let alone at night.

But it wasn't as if her own home was safer.

The route was easy to remember. Her feet knew the way even if her head barely did. But she was careful. The streets may have been bare but that didn't mean much in Gotham. She kept to slinking through the alleyways. Which was easy in Gotham.

Gotham wasn't planned, Gotham was grown. The streets spiraled out in zigs and zags. Pulsing organically from its center. The consequence of a city growing ever hungry for more space. The streets were the city's arteries, but the alleyways were it's veins. And they spread so organically in between building and building that it wasn't difficult to slink through under the notice of everyone while avoiding the main roads. She kept an eye on the sliver of the night sky above though. Everyone knew Bats flew after all.

Still it didn't seem like there was many people in the streets in general. Her eyes were sharp and her ears sharper. But other than the skittering of rats in the alleyway. It seemed like the only person out was her. Her steps padded silently. She skipped around the broken glass and slide between the space between dumpsters and brick wall.

It wasn't long before she arrived at the water tower. The water tower loomed large over her. The rusted gray of the tower was an ominous thing to stare up at. No one seemed to be around though. Although Cass didn't expect anyone to be around. The water tower was a popular spot for teens looking for a place to blow off some steam. The legs of it were metal criss crossing up, the bars were a perfect height for any teen to climb. A little difficult for her short limbs, but all the same she moved up with precision and determination to pull herself up.

Her arms strained holding her weight as she pushed herself up the metal bars all the way up. She didn't know how long it took herself, but it felt good. The mindless climb upward. The tower barely creaked under her weight. But she could hear it groan and water rush in the inside of the tower.

It wasn't that long till her hand hit the top of the ledge around the tower. She pulled herself up. All the way up until she could sit on the ledge.

Gotham was cold at night. And she shivered a little bit and wrapped her arms around herself a little closer.

There wasn't a better view in Lower Gotham. Here she could see it all. The city line stretched far off into the distance. The lights of the city twinkled at her. The building towers rose like arching high like yawning monsters. The rise and fall of the towers like rock formation and mountain ranges. Gotham wasn't like other cities, there was something organic about the way the city was built. Like the entire thing felt like a creature, the crags of the towers rising like grotesque protrusions. She loved it.

Gotham was her home, and as much as she resented it, she couldn't help but feel a wave of affection for it. She closed her eyes and let the wave of Gotham's wind wash over her. If she concentrated really hard, she could feel a rushing beat under her feet. The wind slowly swaying the water tower. A beat that felt so much like Gotham's heartbeat.

She could feel the tension in her shoulders finally slipping away. Gotham's monsters looked so small from here.

 

 

The door creaked and squeaked as she opened the door of the apartment. She had to do this slow, super slow. A triangle of light widened as she pushed the door open. She swallowed hard. That meant nothing good.

As the door creaked open, she looked in to see David Cain backlit by the interior of the refrigerator's light. He looked up at her. Cass backed up, and David charged forward. Cass froze. She was back in the dark. She was back there. He reached out and grabbed her arm. Pulling it sharply toward him. She winced as she stumbled into the apartment. He closed the door behind her.

His hand gripped her arm sharply, like a vice. Her bones practically cracked against each other with the strength of his grip. "I thought," He snarled. "I thought I told you to not cause me any trouble."

"I did not—" Cass started.

He pulled her arm sharply up. A crack echoed in the apartment. "Don't back talk me," David hissed and then he tossed her aside like a rag doll.

Feeling returned to Cass's limbs and she caught herself in a crouch. David stared at her, a raging contempt in his eyes. She stared back, her limbs tense. A churning resentment boiling within her.

He turned and lumbered away to his room. Cass let out a huffing breath. In relief, in pain. She didn't know. She bit her lip and crawled to her room. It felt like an eternity, sweat beaded up on her forehead.

She made it to her room eventually though. Her arm was useless against her side. A limp noodle. Ever little movement was agony. She pressed her arm against the side of the window. She bit her tongue, her mouth opened in a silent shout. A snapping crack echoed throughout the room and she slid to sit down. Everything had a price, even a few moments of freedom.

 

 

As a mute Asian girl, pity seemed to follow her, yet in the wake of being adopted by David Cain there was no more pity than she was used to. Cass was thankful that some parts of her life never seemed to change though. The ugly red bricks of Park Row Elementary seemed to stay as dirty and grim as ever. And if her new living situation garnered any pity from the adult teachers it certainly wasn't enough to break through the all consuming force of apathy of the teachers.

If Park Row Elementary cared, they never showed it.

Still she couldn't help but feel strange in the hallowed halls of Park Row Elementary. As if something had changed and she had crossed that invisible line into victim. She wondered if it was apparent in the bruises on her arms or the exhaustion under her eyes or the readiness with which she walked, the way it was for the others. She honestly wasn't so sure. But nothing changed, and for that she was thankful. The walk to her class was uneventful and frankly boring. She weaved through the crowd with ease.

It been only five months but already she felt the weight of David Cain's displeasure constantly. He didn't just want a maid, he wanted a target. Someone brushed past her shoulder. Brief but hard enough to send sharp stinging pains up her arm. She could practically taste the coiling anger that curled around the man when he did so. Back in her room, she had managed to negotiate the bone back into its socket. Still it was quite sore.

She just needed to survive. She could survive this. Exhaustion clung to her, no matter how much she rested these days. David's temper was so changeable and sudden, she kept herself on such high alert half the time. Her brain was going at about a mile a minute at every moment.

The walk to the classroom was a short one, crowded with moving kids. Still, the orphans of St. Francis Orphanage were good at sniffing each other out. And through the side of her eyes, Cass spotted Skinny Jim weaving through the crowd to get to her. Soon he managed to maneuver in front of her and intercept her. "Sup, Cass."

Cass nodded back, warily.

"How's life at your new home?" Skinny Jim asked.

"Shit," Cass just said.

Skinny Jim nodded slowly. "Yeah, yeah I figured. So, uh. Well, I guess… Ok me and some other kids have a plan. How do you feel about making some money?"

Cass paused. She contemplated the idea for a moment. Making money had never been something she'd ever tried. Most of the stealing she'd done was for food. Still tiredness weighed down her frame. Her shoulders ached from being pulled out of their sockets and put back in. Fuck it. She nodded. What was the worst that could happen?

 

 

Late at night, the streets of Lower Gotham were something taken out of an Edward Gorey illustration. The bones of Old Gotham still stood strong here. The apartments and buildings zig zagged with utterly no reason arching overhead in discordant shapes. One of the Wayne’s long ago had commissioned restorers to repair the crumbling gothic architecture and the grotesque gargoyle statues that still littered the rooftops.

A macabre setting for a mundane little operation. In truth most kids in Gotham had had a brush with crime. Some had fallen in deeper than the others. But Skinny Jim wasn’t much like the rest. He had _ambition_. There was only the four of them.

Red was there. But Red was always with Skinny Jim. Everyone would’ve thought the two were twins if it weren’t for the fact that Skinny Jim was clearly a shade of tan brown that the pale white Red was very not. Red was a shady sort of girl. Which said a fair bit considering the lot of St. Francis orphans. Quiet, but sharp. Red didn’t speak often but when she did it was loud and important.

And another surprisingly familiar face. Jason Todd stood shifting back and forth between his feet by the alleyway as she approached. He looked gaunt. Something about the way his shoulders hunched forward told Cass all she need to know about him. It seemed like she wasn’t the only one whose fortunes had taken a brief dive to the worst.

“Little C!” Skinny Jim called from where he huddled with the other two. He exchanged a meaningful look. One that any kid would know. Were you followed? Did anyone know you were here?

Cass shook her head in answer.

Skinny Jim nodded, slowly. “Alright! Everyone’s been briefed?”

It was a rhetorical question. Skinny Jim was meticulous enough to have talked the ears of each and every single kid in their motley little crew.

Jason raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, we’re fucking ready.”

Cass smiled a little. Ready indeed. The plan was simple. They were to hit any cars by the cracking alleyways. Skinny Jim and Jason cracked the car up. And Cass went in with her body weight and a crowbar. Rolling it out to store in one of a marked dumpster. And Red kept an eye out on the rusted fire ladders and balconies.

Red rolled her weight from foot to foot and glanced at Skinny Jim. He rolled his eyes at her and gestured for them to roll out.

Cass sidled up to Jason, and brushed against his shoulder to get his attention. Skinny Jim and Red didn’t much notice, or if they did, they were polite enough to ignore it.“Are you ok?” She asked.

“Are you?” He asked back pointedly. His gaze ever forward and determinedly not looking at her. Cass wanted to roll her eyes. A deflection out of the oldest playbook. She eyed his skinny frame. Well he certainly didn’t look ‘alright.’

She was not ok but that wasn’t the point. “You’re a baby. Gotta take care of you,” She elbowed him, playfully. It earned her a brief smile. A moment of tentative camaraderie filled the damp Gotham air.

Skinny Jim whistled, breaking them out of their conversation. A red car was parked up ahead. It looked shiny and new. It looked like there was a tourist. They all exchanged grins. The crew was a little awkward at first but sure enough by the third wheel they had developed a rhythm. It was fun work. Cass could admit. There was something about throwing her all into something and not caring about the rest that was mildly comforting to say the least.

The next car was even faster. And they worked quick together to get the tires rolling past. Which is of course is when things went wrong.

 

 

It was both an instant and a long drawn out moment. Cass looked up from the sweat on her brow only to feel the slightest vibration in the air. Instinctually she knew something was very very wrong. She reached out and pulled the closest to her, Skinny Jim to the side and reached out to just barely jerk Jason back. And then like in movies there was a motion, and she was thrown in to the air with a loud roaring force.

Black consumed her vision and then she was back. She was back in the dark. Her hand pressed tighter around her mouth and her other hand pressed tight against her ear. But that couldn’t stop all the noise could it— No— Don’t—

Her ears were ringing. A dull thud and all noise seemed distant. Almost in the background.

 _Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t scream_.

Her breath caught in her throat.

 _Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t scream_.

She blinked her eyes open against the dust debris, she gasped in air.

 _Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t scream_.

Her body ached from the force of the explosion.

 _Don’t move, don’t speak, don’t scream_.

She looked up. A dark silhouette painted across the sky in a dark streak. It was the Bat. A hand grasped on to her arm. The scream in her throat died. She looked over. Skinny Jim’s taut pinched face was looking at her. He was mouthing something. Frantically. It was like he was moving underwater. Something distant. _Cassandra. Cass._

She nodded slowly. He crawled forward and put her arm over his shoulder and rose up dragging her tow.

The ringing subsumed and all the noise gradually crept in. The ringing was still there. “C’mon we gotta go,” Skinny Jim said.

The words weren’t coming out. _What happened?_ A pattering of feet caught their attention. Red ran toward them.

“What the fuck was that? Red?”

Red shook her head, “I don’t know! I thought the streets were clear tonight!”

They looked around. They had gotten lucky, they weren’t anywhere near the blast. But the force of the shockwave had thrown them away through the dust and into one of the many piles of cardboard boxes on the street sidewalks. The street was devastated. The car totaled up against a lamppost and the windows shattered. Even the ground was broken up from the concussive force of the blast.

“Jason?” She rasped as she clutched at Skinny Jim’s arm. She moved up. “Where’s Jason?”

“Here,” A coughing noise echoed from one of the alleyways across the road. They raised their heads to see. Jason had been thrown in the other direction entirely and had collapsed on to the dumpster. A rush of relief flooded her. But the sound of an engines in the distance cut that feeling short. A car sped down through the broken street. They were all clean away from the street. Which was lucky as it tore down with a speed that sent harsh ringing pains down their ears. Echoing engine sounds soon followed.

Red shouted louder than Cass had ever even heard her even speak, “ _FUCKING SCATTER_.” And she reached down and pulled Cass up. Skinny Jim stumbled up right. Cass glanced over her shoulder, Jason’s face was drawn up sharp and scared. And then it was obscured by a massive rush of chasing cars. The three of them dodged out into one of the alleyways. Skinny Jim tripped over his feet. Cass pulled him up sharply.

“Run,” Red said. A shaking fear infecting her voice. They booked it. _Hard_. Cass didn’t even have a chance to look back. A curdling fear settled into her stomach. Was Jason going to be alright? Cass’s breaths came ragged and raw from her throat and they zig zagged down the alleyways, hardly looking where they were going.

The shadows of Gotham seemed more frightening than ever. As if the dully city had finally come to live at the first taste of something bloody. The moonlight barely illuminated their way as they dodged through skinny alleyways and squeezed past dumpsters. Running They ran until they could barely run anymore. All the adrenaline of the day burning out of them fast.

Cass looked up. They were near Cain’s apartment. Red and Skinny Jim were sweating and listless beside her. But Red glanced up at the street name, recognizing it perhaps. She looked sharply at Cass. “Tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

Cass nodded shakily and turned away from them. It was odd. For all the noise that they had come from, here in this part of Gotham. It was utterly silent.

A gnawing guilt seized at her chest. What happened to Jason?

 

 

The streets passed by slowly but steadily. The only light from the lamplights. It wasn’t long until she found herself facing the familiar peeling red painted door.

Cass stood still, staring at it almost at a loss. A crash startled her from her stupor and the decision to open the door was taken from her.David Cain opened up the door. He was slumped over in a white tank holding a green beer bottle in the other hand.

The reek coming off of David as he stood at the door frame was almost too much to bare. Cass stumbled backward in disgust. His bloodshot eyes narrowed and he grabbed at her arm, pulling her in. Cass didn’t resist. Better to go limp. He then threw her at the floor. The force of the toss painfully bruising her back.

“I take you in?” David slurred, he moved to crouch over her. His putrid breath hot against her skin. His face was bright red and his teeth were clenched with anger. She felt numb, her fear too second nature at this point. Too drained from what had happened from the day. “I take you in? And you go—gallivanting off doing who know’s what.”

He stumbled and brought his foot down on to her arm. She twitched instinctively, moving away from the blow.

Wrong move. At the missed blow, David’s face contorted into an ugly anger. He brought his hands down onto her. She didn’t dodge the first fist blow. It landed square in her stomach. She coughed up phlegm. She dodged the next blow. But it didn’t matter. His face was clenched with unrelenting rage. Gradually that fear made its way home. She swallowed as she twisted out of the way of his blows. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die like this. She would be buried back with her parents, with nothing to remember her by.

“I don’t deserve this!” He screamed at her, raining blows down at her. “I don’t deserve this disrespect.”

He didn’t deserve anything. She clenched her teeth. He didn’t deserve _anything_. And beneath the fear, something ugly surfaced. An anger that made her hands curl up in fists and her form shake with something she had suppressed. David slumped down over her form and brought down the hand clenching the beer bottle. And in that instant, just an instant Cass surged up and struck his throat with her hands.

There was a crack. And then—And then he slumped to the floor. His blue eyes still wide in shock and pain. They were so pathetic and helpless. He looked like a deer paralyzed before the car that would kill him. The pain he felt suffused her, made her form rattle.

Cassandra's hands were shaking, they were still shaking. Her hands were red. There was so much red, there was so much red. All she could see was David's face, contorted in pain and fear. Hung in the air like an accusing phantom. She had done that. She had… She couldn’t breathe. The air grew thin in her lungs. All she could see were his eyes. His pained blue eyes hung accusingly in the air looking at her.

"Well, I am quite impressed," a smooth voice sailed across the room.

Cass snapped her head up to look at the new intruder. A man stood in front of the open window. A dangerous man. She hadn't even heard him climb in, she hadn't even felt his presence. She didn't know how, the man radiated a coiling power. Like the steady confidence of a predator knowing its prey was within reach. He wore a mask. Half of the mask was just black, the other was orange with a red eye hole carved in. Two swords were strapped to his back.

"I certainly didn't expect someone else to do my job for me,” He drawled. "What's your name, little lady? Mine's Slade Wilson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long ass notes up ahead.
> 
> Summary: 
> 
>  
> 
> Cass is placed with David Cain. A former henchman, he was injured and adopted her to basically be a servant and a target. He physically and verbally abuses her and keeps her in line with the threat of selling her off. Cass is forced into a state of hyperawareness, and her skill to read people becomes hyper attuned in order to survive. She decides to join in a tirejacking scam with some orphans and Jason Todd. It goes awry as a bomb blows up in mid-Lower Gotham and the orphans are caught in the blast. They are all separated and she thinks that something bad happened to Jason. When she comes back, David's really drunk and starts to go too far in his abuse. She is both angry and afraid. She fights back. In the ensuing struggle, David is killed by Cass. It is ambigious whether or not she meant to kill David or if it was an accident. As she is, again, angrily fighting for her life. Unbeknownst to her, this fight is all witnessed by a stranger. He steps into the room through the window. He then reveals and introduces himself to Cass. It's Slade Wilson, or Deathstroke the Terminator. 
> 
> ___  
> I'm currently visiting family. So this chapter wasn't edited as great as I wanted it to be. I'll edit when I have time.
> 
> This was a hard chapter for me to write too. I’m not too sure I succeeded either. And this is probably my biggest change in the entirety of Cass's story but bear with me. I faked you out with the reveal of David Cain. But I promise you everyone else is staying the same. I have a pretty concrete plan. Cass's personality, ethos and eventual end point will, of course, stay the same. Another thing, I'm pretty sure I did all the trigger warnings for this chapter, lemme know if there's something I should add. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos super welcome and motivate me to write faster.
> 
> Also... Rose Wilson will be in the next chapter ;)


	4. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Emotional manipulation, straight up manipulation, light gaslighting, I want to be clear Slade’s a dick and taking advantage of her, but Cass isn’t quite aware of it yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is WAY smaller than my usual chapters, but I wanted to get something out today. Also I did split this chapter up so the next chapter will be longer and will be out quicker... Hopefully. Also Rose Wilson did not make this chapter, sadly.

Cassandra's voice clawed at her from the inside of her throat. There was a scream building there. It gnawed a space between her ribs, scratching at her lungs. But she stayed silent. She always stayed silent. All she could do was just stare at the lounging predator. Almost daring him to move forward. To break the wall between them with something, anything. Slade Wilson was not a man who could be rushed by a little tension though. And the silence between them squeezed tighter. Instead, he slid the window behind him closed. And began to work.

She watched distantly, a second party even in her own head. She felt like she was watching through the water. The movements of the scene in front of her were slow and heavy and slightly dreamlike. It was gruesome. There was no doubt about that, yet whatever part of her might have retched was dead. Now she simply watched clinically, dully even as the dangerous man efficiently laid out a tarp and then crumpled David’s body until he was just a pile of limbs.

There was no hesitation. No indication that the man was working on something other than a slab of long pig. It took under ten minutes. The cracking and snapping and sawing muted under the rush-thud of her own heartbeat in her ears. Her hands were shaking. The pain in David's eyes rushing to her eyes again and again and again and again and—

Slade clicked open his helmet. The metal plates moving to unveil his face. She opened her mouth. To say something, anything. But the words didn't seem to come out. The words were always so ephemeral on her tongue. And now, as always, they escaped her. He was not the man she expected, but then again she didn't know what man she expected to see behind the mask. He looked... Surprisingly human. His hair was graying and near white. There were lines of years of living a grueling life on earth etched in his face. A black eyepatch hid his left eye from view. His other eye was a mean, keen blue. A military man. But that was obvious, he held himself stiff, straight-backed and eagle-eyed.

His bearing reminded her of the old, mean dog that prowled in the back alleys behind the orphanage. The bravest of the kids tried to feed it and pet it, but whatever had happened in its past had it made it vicious. Friendliness was only met with suspicion. And the slightest hint of anger was sniffed out before it could even manifest. Plenty of kids bristling with misplaced fury learned the hard way that this dog was no victim.

Patches of its fur was shorn short, and others were so matted with dirt and other debris, it was hard to know exactly what kind of dog he used to be. Beady, hungry eyes always following any movement. That dog looked as if he had always been a back alley dog, and this man looked like he'd always been a killer.

He kept her in close view. Always in the corner of his eye, never in a blindspot. She supposed that was fair. However small she was, she had just—she had just snapped someone's neck. The adrenaline was fading. Now almost a sickly panic clung to her. Whatever fear and sadness and anger and fear had tainted the space had fallen away in the wake of the silence.

She opened her mouth. She barely whispered it but the sound was practically deafening in the silence between them. Now panic and lost had been laid to rest by exhausation, allowing room for curiosity to closely follow behind. "Why are you helping?"

There was no reason the dog deigned to help the victims of the back alley. And it never did, strolling by contemptuously. A man like this did not help.

"I didn't help," he replied in a low, smooth voice. "I just did my job."

He appraised her, sizing up her up as if building up a frame of her in his mind. "You're a good killer."

She flinched.

He smiled, a mean smile almost. As if amused by her fear. Like that backalley dog toying with its prey, looking down on the children that approached. Fear was an appetizer to him, he’d lived with it so long. "No, I mean it. You got a killer's instinct. That's rare. He wasn't givin' you an inch. But the minute, he paused. You stopped him. You should be proud of that."

Aching guilt gnawed at her from the inside. There was plenty of emotions in the churning pit of her stomach. But there was no pride in the cavern of her insides. "I'm not."

He snorted, "Yeah I can tell you're not. But you should be. Why should you apologize for killing a man that was about to kill you?"

That excuse ran hollow between the space between the two. There was no apologies to be had. No excuse that seemed to scrape away the guilt that clung to her like black tar. She wondered if people could just look at her. And know.

"But I will admit, you gotta get some," he rubbed at the stubble at his chin, contemplatively, "control."

"I wasn't thinking," she murmured. She just wanted him to stop, and then she had. And all she could see was fear. All she could see was pain.

He nodded thoughtfully, deliberately oblivious to her turmoil. "Instinct, like I said."

She caught herself before she flinched this time. That didn’t stop him from noticing though.

"Don't hide from it," Slade said, wryly, "that's the instinct that saved your life. It needs to be trained though."

She looked up at him, searching his face. He raised an eyebrow, the invitation was clear. She only had one word at the back of her tongue, "Why?"

Slade shrugged his shoulders carelessly. She wasn't fooled. This was not a man who ever did anything without a concrete reason. Whim seemed cheap.

"Like I said you're good. You gotta killer's instinct, it would be a real big shame to see that wasted here in Gotham," he said the word with a sneer. An outsider's sneer. Something buried in her bristled at hearing it.

"Besides you look like you need it. Look at you, shaking at killing one man. You're so weak now. You wanna learn how to control yourself? Well, practice with a knife long enough. You're in control of it. You're not just some idiot waving it around. Or I suppose you could go back into the Gotham system. Roll the dice. But you know how Gotham is. You already got some of its taint on you. What are you going to do? Go back to teachers that have already given up on you?"

Cassandra looked down at her hands. Her hands looked red. There was no blood. No blood. Just a quiet snap. But why did her hands look so red?

The silence between them stretching out once more. But it seemed like Slade wasn't content to just leave it this time. He knelt in front of her in one fluid motion and grasped her chin to make him look up at him. Impatience radiated from him, his eyes cold, "Speak, girl. I thought you weren’t dumb."

An old wound itched at her. Breaking open and waking her from the swirling tempest in her head. An aching wound, never quite fully scabbed open. She snapped a hand out, pinching at the underside of his wrist. He let her go automatically with a rough shake of his hand. The abruptness shocked a laugh out of him. "Vicious, kid."

She looked straight in to his eyes. The words finally came, “I’m not dumb. I'm not a kid. I'm Cassandra Wu."

"Nice to meet you, Cassandra Wu."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes and here we see that Slade's a massive asshole. Again, I'm keeping things different but her personality will stay the same, you're just going to see her personality formed under a different manner. So she's kinda OOC? Because she's not yet "Cass" at the beginning of Batgirl and No Man's Land, but that's because that development hasn't happened yet. 
> 
> There's going to be a time skip and Rose will DEFINITELY be in the upcoming chapter though :).


End file.
